Deception and Desire (27 page)

‘Dinah – are you there? You're wanted. It's the police.'

‘The police!' Dinah repeated, shocked.

The constable was quite young and rather good-looking.

‘Dinah Marshall?'

‘Yes.'

‘Could I come in?'

Dinah glanced over her shoulder. The living room was in total disarray, Lynne was sitting on the floor eating yoghurt and wearing nothing but a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and the other fine-art student was wandering about clad in a faded towel.

‘Well, not really … What's it about?'

‘I have a message for you. From home. They've been trying to telephone but couldn't get any reply.'

Dinah felt her knees go weak. ‘Has something happened, then?'

‘Well … yes. Are you sure we can't go inside?'

Dinah gripped the doorpost. ‘It's Grandfather, isn't it? He's had a stroke. Grandma always said he would. Is he … dead?'

The policeman looked worried. ‘No, it's your mother, I'm afraid.'

If Dinah's knees had gone weak before, now it was her whole body. The blood seemed to drain away and she thought she might be going to faint.

‘Mum! No! You're wrong!'

‘I'm afraid not. The message is that your mother has collapsed and is very ill in hospital. Your family want you to go home immediately.'

‘Where is she? What hospital? What's wrong with her?'

‘I'm sorry, I don't know the details,' the policeman said, ‘I suggest you ring home straight away to find out.'

‘Yes … yes … I will … thank you …'

She closed the door. The others were all staring, curious but not wanting to show it. She ignored them, searching in her purse for change for the phone. She didn't have any.

‘Has anybody got any shillings or sixpences?'

Henry went to his room and emerged with a handful of silver. Dinah took it and ran down the stairs.

The phone at the other end rang interminably. Dinah could imagine it echoing through the manse. At last it was answered by Mrs Miller, who came in to clean on two mornings a week.

‘Is that you, Dinah? Oh dear, such goings on! They've been trying to get hold of you …'

‘What has happened, Mrs Miller?'

‘Your mother. Dear oh dear, it's terrible.' She got up about half past six to go to the lav and just collapsed. Your grandmother was awake and heard her go down – bump! When she found her she was lying on the landing, half in and half out of the bathroom. I reckon she felt bad and that's why she was going to the lav. Dear, dear, what a terrible shock!'

‘But what do they say is wrong with her?'

‘I couldn't say. She's been took to hospital – the General, of course – rushed off by ambulance, and your gran and gramp have gone with her. They'll be doing tests, I s'pose, and we'll know more then, but …'

‘It's all right, Mrs Miller, I'm coming home. Well – I'll go straight to the hospital. Tell Grandfather that, will you, if he rings or comes home.'

‘I will, Dinah. Oh dear, I'm so sorry …'

‘It's not your fault, Mrs Miller,' Dinah said, as if the only thing in the world that mattered was consoling the daily woman. ‘And they can do marvellous things, can't they? At least she's still alive!'

But by the time Dinah reached the hospital her mother was dead. Her grandparents were still there, in a special room that was kept for relatives who had suffered bereavement. They told Dinah that Ruth had passed away ten minutes earlier and that they had been with her at the end. Mona was upset, mopping her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief, but Grandfather was almost triumphal. There was, thought Dinah, who was as yet too numb with shock to be able to begin to grieve, something almost obscene about his theatrical demeanour, face set into the same lines of traditional solemnity she had seen him wear for a hundred funerals, eyes almost gloating in his grey face.

‘Your mother is gone,' he intoned. ‘Gone where pain and sin cannot reach her, where she is beyond being hurt by the thoughtlessness of those she loved. How long is it since you came home to see her, Dinah? Too long. And now it is too late. You failed to come and comfort her in her lifetime, and now she is dead.'

Dinah gazed at him in horror. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘Your mother missed you dreadfully. The doctor tells us she died of a brain haemorrhage. But I know she died of a broken heart.'

Dinah gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth, tears brimming suddenly.

‘Now, Reverend, there's no need for that,' the nurse who had showed Dinah to the relatives'room interjected. She looked shocked and angry, and she put an arm around Dinah. ‘Would you like to see your mother, my darling? You come with me.'

Mona made to follow but the nurse stopped her with a wave of the hand.

‘She'll be all right with me.' In the corridor she squeezed Dinah's arm. ‘Don't take any notice of him, my darling. He's upset. People say all sorts of things when they are upset.'

Dinah nodded, but the tears were still blinding her and she was choked by grief and guilt. It was true, she hadn't been home as often as she should have of late. For one thing the centre of her life had shifted – her world revolved around college now. But it was not only that. There had been such a terrible fuss when she had moved into the student flat, the same sort of glowering black disapproval as when she had first elected to go to art school, accompanied by all the old recriminations, but this time Dinah had felt she really did not have to take it. All she had to do was avoid going home. The cessation of the weekend trips had been like the removal of a penance; for the first time in her life Dinah had felt the beginnings of real freedom.

But now that freedom had closed its jaws like another trap. How could she have been so selfish? She had pushed her mother on to the periphery of her life and now it was too late to make amends.

Ruth was lying in a side ward. She looked very peaceful, as if she were simply asleep, and her skin had not yet taken on the waxy pallor of death. But Dinah had never seen a dead body before and she hung back in the doorway, afraid to go in.

‘Come on, my dear, she can't hurt you.' The nurse's voice was firm and kind; Dinah, who had never experienced much warmth or affection, wanted to weep at the sweetness of it. The nurse put her arm around her, drawing her gently into the room, taking her hand and laying it on Ruth's still warm one.

‘You see, she's peaceful, dear, isn't she? She's lovely. She didn't suffer, you can be sure of that. Now, would you like to have a little time on your own with her? I'll leave you for a few minutes but I'm just round the corner if you should want me. Are you all right now?'

Dinah nodded. She stood beside the bed, looking at her mother. There was so much she wanted to say to her now that it was too late, and she realised that they had never really communicated at all. She had no memories at all of the early years before her father had died. Life seemed to have begun only from the time they had moved into the manse where Grandfather ruled the roost and prevented a proper mother-daughter relationship.

If only it had been different! Dinah thought. She dropped to her knees beside the bed and lifted the unresponsive hand to her wet cheek.

‘I'm so sorry, Mum!' she whispered.

‘What do you mean, you are returning to college today? We have only just buried your mother. It's indecent!'

The funeral, which had been held at ten thirty, was over, but those stalwarts of the chapel who were sufficiently privileged to have been invited back to the manse were still gathered in the parlour drinking tea, eating tuna and cucumber sandwiches, and speaking in hushed tones of the terrible tragedy which had overtaken their beloved minister and his family.

‘I'm sorry, Grandfather, but I'm going. I've ordered a car to take me to the station.'

‘Cancel it! There are people here who want to talk to you.'

‘I don't want to talk to them.'

They have come to pay their last respects to your mother. You owe it to them.'

‘No,' Dinah said. ‘I don't owe them anything. They're not here because of me, they're here because of you.
You
talk to them. I'm going back to college.'

‘Dinah!' His face was like thunder. It was the first time he could ever remember her daring to answer back. ‘I won't tolerate this behaviour!'

Dinah gazed at him with a loathing that had crept up on her unawares. Since leaving home she saw him in a different perspective; now, after spending five days under his roof she longed only to escape. There had been no loving comfort for her, no tenderness, only gloom and a heavy sense of blame. Now grief gave her a courage she had not known she possessed.

‘Grandfather, I am going back to college today and you might as well make up your mind to accept it.'

For a moment she thought he would strike her, so black and angry did his expression become. Then a shudder passed through his body leaving him oddly white and rigid like a tree struck by lightning.

‘May God forgive you, Dinah,' he said coldly.

It was mid-afternoon when Dinah arrived back at the flat. The bravado had gone out of her now, the grief and the stress of the last few days and the ordeal of the funeral taking their toll on her so that she felt utterly weary and drained. She let herself into the flat, not expecting anyone else to be there, dropped her hold-all on the floor behind the sofa and went into the kitchen to boil the kettle for a much-needed coffee.

‘How was it, then?' The voice from the doorway made her jump. She spun round. Neil was standing there, leaning against the doorpost.

‘How do you expect?'

‘Awful?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm really sorry, Din. I don't know what to say.'

They knew, of course, that her mother had died. She had rung to tell them and that she would be staying over until after the funeral.

‘There's nothing
to
say. What are you doing home this afternoon?'

‘I decided to skip lectures and do some work here.'

He had been painting, she could see – there were bright smudges of oils on his faded jeans. The kettle boiled.

‘Do you want a cup of coffee?' she asked.

‘No. Tell you what, I've got a better idea. Let's have a proper drink.'

‘Wine? In the middle of the afternoon?'

‘Not wine – vodka. And what does it matter what time of day it is? It'll do you good. Come on.'

Dinah tipped the coffee back into its jar and wiped the cups out with a tea towel. Neil was in his room. She took the cups in to him.

‘Do we need these?'

‘No, believe it or not we've got some glasses – courtesy of the White Hart.' He laughed, fishing for them, and the bottle, down behind the bed. ‘Do you want to wash them up or do you trust me when I say I am not suffering from anything catching?'

‘I believe you.' The thought that she was going to drink from Neil's unwashed glass was oddly erotic. ‘I'm still not sure about vodka, though. Will I like it?'

‘Try it and see.' He poured a generous measure, topped it up with orange squash and passed it to her. ‘Don't drink it the way you drank the wine, though. It's spirits, remember – it will go to your head.'

She sat down on the edge of Neil's bed, sipping the drink and feeling it run rivers of warmth through her misery and tiredness. Neil was sprawled in the one and only chair.

‘We didn't expect you back today,' he said. ‘Not straight after the funeral.'

‘There was nothing to keep me.'

‘What about your grandparents?'

‘Hmm.' She laughed shortly and bitterly.

‘Don't you get on with them?' Neil asked.

‘You could say that. My grandfather wants everything done his way, he can't stand it if anyone goes against him. He's never forgiven me for leaving home. And my grandmother – it's weird, I've lived with her since I was seven and yet I don't really feel I know her at all. She's so quiet, never offers an opinion on anything, just follows Grandfather like a shadow. It's almost as though she's not a real person at all.'

‘You won't be going home very often now, then.'

‘I don't feel like going home at all …' A tear slid down her nose and she covered her mouth with her hand, gulping hard to try and stop others following it. ‘I'm sorry … I'm sorry …'

‘Hey – don't cry! Dinah, don't!' He got up from the chair and sat down on the bed beside her, taking the glass out of her hand and putting it on the floor. ‘Do you want a handkerchief?'

‘It's all right, I've got one.' She fished up her sleeve and extracted a crumpled tissue. But still the tears refused to stop, and when Neil put his arm around her she turned her face into his shoulder, sobbing against him.

Neil held her gently, rocking her, and after a while he began to kiss her hair and then her forehead. As the paroxysm of weeping eased she became aware of the pressure of his lips. She raised her face slightly and he kissed her nose and then her cheek. She remained motionless, aware of something sharp and sweet twisting within her, and he kissed her eyes, too, gently licking up the salty wetness of her tears with his tongue.

To Dinah in that moment his nearness was more than purely physical, the nearness of a man she had been attracted to for months, it was almost spiritual. There was comfort in his touch, it meant that she was no longer alone. Dinah, who had been starved of affection all her life, responded to the warmth of those arms around her with the eagerness of a baby seeking its mother's breast. She clung to him and when his lips reached hers she kissed him back with a passion that surprised him.

He unbuttoned her crisp cotton blouse, sliding his fingers inside, and she did not protest. If anything she only clung more tightly as he stroked her breast, found the nipple and tweaked it into arousal. He pushed her gently back on the bed, sliding up to lie alongside her, and she turned to him eagerly, pressing the whole length of her body against his. Her skirt was already rucked up; still expecting a rebuff he pushed it above her hips, but the only sign of protest was of annoyance that their bodies had been separated for even a moment; she pressed herself back against him, as tight as she could, twining her bare legs around him and nestling the core of her body against his.